


Models of Learning

by Sir_Arghs_III



Category: Ghost Hunt
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, a nod to psychology topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-15 23:55:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18509701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Arghs_III/pseuds/Sir_Arghs_III
Summary: Oliver Davis thinks the girl takes after Mai. Mai Davis thinks the girl is more like Naru. But of course; the girl is their daughter, after all. Many years post-canon.





	1. Like Mother, Like Daughter

Oliver Davis is an early riser—hatefully so, according to his wife. As such, it comes as a surprise when he enters the kitchen and finds his eight-year-old daughter already bustling inside. She seems so focused on her task of filling the electric water heater that he knows she has not noticed him yet. Leaning by the kitchen’s doorframe, he watches her plug in the heater, lean down to procure two mugs in the cupboard below the counter, and stand on tiptoes to reach a small tin can from the hanging shelf.

He waits for her to safely set everything on the counter before saying, “You’re up so early,” certain that she will be jumping and crying out in fright in a split second.

Which she does.

To calm herself, she places a hand to her chest and takes deep breaths, silently counting from ten to one. Then, she glares at him. “Dad! Why would you do that?!” she half-screeches. For a brief second he wonders if her grievance from last night rendered her susceptible to uncharacteristic noisiness.

He raises his brows at her. “I wanted to greet my daughter.”

“Well, _dear_ _father_ , that’s not how normal people say ‘good morning’.”

“I’m not ‘normal people’, Elizabeth.”

“You always say that.”

Noll shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s a fact.”

Elizabeth glares a bit longer before sighing. “…You win this time,” she begrudgingly concedes.

He smirks. “I always win.”

She mirrors him. “Not over Mum,” she sing-songs. A click sounds. She turns to unplug the heater, missing his momentary frown.

She is right, and he sees that she knows it. He returns to the topic. “—Why are you up this early today?”

“To make you tea.”

He tilts his head to the side. Tea? His brilliant mind formulates many possible reasons for Elizabeth’s actions, but not one is logical enough to fit his daughter’s personality.

She proceeds to get two pyramid teabags from the can and place them into the waiting mugs. Carefully, the way her mother showed her, she pours hot water into the mugs. She starts the timer before turning back to him. “Mum told me a new bedtime story last night. About her and you and tea.”

This interests him. Mai usually talked about her profession when putting Elizabeth to sleep. Odd, but the girl loved hearing about psychology, and Mai was happy to talk about it. Odder, still, that his wife talked about the two of them during bedtime. He pushes off from the doorframe to sit down at the table. “How does it go?”

She hesitates first, checking the timer and then the mugs but trying not to fidget. “She said she’s been preparing tea for you since high school.”

“That’s right.”

“And during college when they studied classical and ope…opera?” She struggles to remember the word, so he supplies it.

“Operant conditioning.”

“Yeah! Operant conditioning,” she continues, “she decided to try applying the concepts.”

His eyes narrow as his brain processes her portentous words. “And to whom did she apply them?” He would need to speak to his wife about this absurdity.

Elizabeth laughs nervously. “You?” She flinches when the timer rings and turns around to finish her preparations. “Mum said she made you like her with tea and other things. Well, the important part is, you started liking her because of tea. That’s why I’m up this early.” She walks to him and shyly offers a cup of tea. “…I’m sorry for using PK last night. I got upset when you said I can’t eat my favourite foods anymore. I hope you can like me again.” When he accepts the mug, she sits across from him to look down at her own.

He regards his daughter. Her black locks, the shape of her eyes, and her nose, she had inherited from him. The rest, even her bright smile and her general kindness, had come from her mother. Elizabeth is one of the shorter girls in her school and dance class, but what she lacks in inches, she more than makes up for in friends and test scores. If Noll were to describe her succinctly, Elizabeth is a smaller, smarter, black-haired version of Mai.

He breathes in the aroma of the English Breakfast and exhales. “It was unnecessary.” He hears her sniffle, so he explains himself: “I’m as stubborn as your mother; I don’t suddenly withdraw my favour from my family.”

Elizabeth abruptly looks up at him, a beam blooming across her face.

“Even after recklessly using the very thing they needed to control with a vegetarian diet and basic Qigong,” he mildly reprimands.

She chuckles.

Satisfied that he managed to cheer her up, he takes a sip of his tea. It tastes just like the ones Mai makes. Perhaps Mai had shared her secret ingredient with Elizabeth, and he simply neglected to notice when the girl added it a while ago. Whatever the cause, this second pleasant surprise is enough for him to return his daughter’s smile with his own, small one.

She really takes after her mother.


	2. She’s Got that Smirk

“So. What’s going on here?” Mai Davis asks curiously, turning to the homeroom teacher and then to her daughter. Not an hour ago, she received a rather obscure call from the teacher requesting her presence. Now, the three of them are gathered round a small table in the faculty lounge.

“To tell you the truth, Mrs Davis, I do not know myself. All I saw was that one minute her classmate Chaster, was happily waving his pencils… the next minute he was screaming and running away from Elizabeth and any pencil he sees.” The teacher, called Mr Irving, has his brows furrowed—Mai clearly sees his utter befuddlement, despite considering him as a self-possessed man. He looks at her daughter. “Maybe Elizabeth can explain. She seems to know what happened, because she kept saying he is ‘like Little Albert’ now.”

The eight-year-old nods enthusiastically, and Mai connects everything together as her face drains of colour. “Eri,” she begins, “You didn’t—you can’t possibly have… uh… tried out what the… _heroine_ —” Her daughter giggles at the cover-up. “—did in our bedtime stories, can you? Did you?” she asks hopefully while expecting the worst.

Eri answers unapologetically, “I did. Since response cost didn’t work, I was sure only punishment would.” The girl shrugs. “I was right.”

Mai fights the urge to slap herself. She will have to search for proper bedtime stories even if Eri loved hearing about her profession.

“I heard from Elizabeth that you are a doctor,” Mr Irving addresses her.

“Yes, I have a PhD.” In experimental psychology, but Mai conveniently decides that that piece of information is neither here nor there.

“I see. I thought that maybe you can check up on Chaster.”

“Yeah,” Eri joins, “You should check him, Mum!”

She nods in approval. “I guess I could see him for myself. Let’s meet this boy, then.” She stands up, smiling slightly as she extends a hand to Eri. “And explain to his parents.”

“And explain to his parents.” She feels Eri’s grip tighten around her hand as the girl repeats her words.

* * *

Once they enter the privacy of their car, Mai gently turns her daughter to face her. “Now, tell me what really happened.”

Eri takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mum. Chaster said his parents bought him an automatic sharpener. To prove it, he started waving his sharpened pencils right in front of our faces. We tried to ignore him. That’s when he started pointing his pencils close to our eyes.”

She brushes the girl’s black bangs aside. “What did you do?” she softly encourages.

A few seconds pass.

“I secretly made one of his pencils fly straight at him but I made it stop just before it hits his eye.” Eri hurriedly says this, then shuts her eyes tightly as Mai’s widen.

“You used your PK?” she whispers. “How did you feel afterwards? Did you feel tired or faint?” she asks urgently.

Her daughter opens one eye. “I didn’t… feel anything?” The other one opens when Mai relaxes. “Aren’t you gonna scold me?”

“Let me think.” She hums thoughtfully. “If I were to assess your actions I would say you followed the logical—but not necessarily the best—course. You did prevent any accidents, so I won’t scold you for that. But it was cold-hearted of you to do that to your classmate.”

“I don’t care. He was a bother. And his fear will fade, anyway.”

“Eri, what did I tell you about trying to understand others by putting yourself in their shoes?”

“I _do_ do that,” replies Eri with a pout. “But I knew it’d be useless on him, so I followed Dad’s advice.”

“‘ _Dad’s advice’?_ ” Mai schools her face into her fake saccharine smile to mask her suspicion. Whatever advice it is, it’ll surely be borderline _rude_. “And that is…?”

“‘If you can’t tame them with friendship, crush them with logic.’”

Mai freezes. She would need to have a word or litany with her idiot husband. When she feels her daughter’s hand on her face, she sighs. “And what about the careless use of your PK?”

Eri’s lips quirk at one side. “Well~” she drawls, “You said I could use it as long as no one gets hurt. I didn’t _really_ hurt anyone, right?”

Mai is struck with the familiarity of that look, and before she knows it, she is laughing fondly and inviting her daughter into her open arms.

Eri is definitely smart, cheeky, and reckless just like her father.

And boy, does she have that Davis smirk.


	3. Her New Favourite Day

Elizabeth Davis has two days she looks forward to every week: Tuesday and Saturday, because of her ballet classes. But this Thursday, she will be attending a new dance class of sorts, and she hopes that this day becomes another one she can be excited about.

Waiting perched on a couch in the corner of Dad’s office, she watches the people who call on him. There is her godmother, Auntie Madoka, who always gives her hugs. Then there are men and women who greet her and ask if she is interested in her father’s work. There is also Grandpa, who brings Grandma every now and then. Of course there is Mum, who pops in and out to check on her and Dad. But she has yet to see her godfather, Uncle Koujo, the reason why she is sitting here and reading her dad’s first publication.

After what seems like hours of staying still, she groans. “How much longer?” she grumbles to herself.

 “Just a couple more hours, Eri.” Mum comforts her with a pat on the head. “Besides,” Mum adds, glancing teasingly at her dad, “You can’t be getting bored of your dad’s paper now, can you?”

Dad curtly replies without moving his eyes from the document he is studying. “Of course not.”

“Rea~lly? From where I’m looking, Eri’s eyes are becoming droopier with every page.”

He finally glares at Mum, who gives him the smug grin of a victor.

They do not lose eye contact even as a lab assistant enters the office. “Dr Davis?”

“Yes?” “What?” Her parents answer at the same time, to the assistant’s astonishment.

Elizabeth stifles her laugh with both hands.

Forcing himself to recover, though still with red cheeks, the poor guy clarifies, “Sorry. Uh. I meant Dr Oliver Davis. Dr Hinnells Jr needs you in his office.”

Her dad stands up to his full height and walks haughtily by her mum. “See you later, _Dr Davis_.” He follows the guy out, firmly shutting the door before her spluttering mum could retort.

“W-What did you mean by that?! I have a PhD, too! And-And you _married_ me!” Mum shouts long after the two men had left.

Elizabeth reaches up to place a hand on her mum’s shoulder. “You started it,” she says neutrally.

Mum sighs and hangs her head in guilt. “I know.”

“Dad, one. Mum, zero.”

“Ugh.”

* * *

The rest of her wait is interspersed with similar instances, and she is glad she was clever enough to keep score right from the start.

In a nearby restaurant: “Dr Davis!” Her parents turn in sync. She holds her breath, waiting to find out who the caller is addressing.

“Mr Powell.” Mum stands up and takes the middle-aged man’s hand, while Dad studies him indifferently. After talking to Mr Powell for a short time, she turns to them, the victorious grin she had earlier lighting up her face again. “Well, Eri?”

“‘Well’ what?” Elizabeth tries to play dumb.

“What’s the score?” Mum asks so excitedly that she giggles.

“Dad and Mum, one point each.”

Dad sighs in annoyance. _How childish_ , the gesture obviously says. _Who cares?_ is what her and Mum’s deadpan looks reply.

In one of the hallways to her parents’ offices: A woman greets, “Good afternoon, Dr Davis!” and nods at Mum. “You as well, Dr Davis,” she adds as if in afterthought.

Elizabeth glances at her dad. He does not even seem to acknowledge the woman’s presence. She gives the woman two people’s worth of frown, only letting up when she observes in satisfaction that her mum greets back with just the barest civility. She crosses her arms as they continue walking. “I don’t like her.”

“No one does,” Dad agrees.

“Hey! She’s still a colleague,” Mum defends.

“So you find her bearable?”

“I… don’t,” she admits before correcting herself. “Maybe barely.”

He gives her a cynical smile. “Ever the Little Miss Sunshine.”

She returns it with her overly sweet fake smile. “I’m _your_ Little _Mrs_ Sunshine.”

Elizabeth grins. _Dad, one. Mum, two._

In two more hallways: “Dr Davis! And Mr Davis and little Elizabeth.” ‘ _Mr Davis’?_ Her dad scowls. “How do you do?” Not so well, thanks to them. She laughs silently behind her hand.

_Dad, one. Mum, four._

As she and Dad return to his office (the phone rang in Mum’s office and she had to answer it), Elizabeth voices her observation. “Dad, you’re not very popular, are you?”

“It’s a bother, as you’ve seen with your mother.”

She considers this. “You have a point, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re not so popular.” She laughs sheepishly when he frowns slightly at her. “Just saying.”

He sighs. “It’s more efficient to make only the right people regard me positively.”

“Like Mum and me?”

“Like legitimate researchers and rich sponsors.”

“Oh.” He has a point, as always. She must remember those wise words.

After a few minutes, Mum bursts into the office. “Naru, I just got a call. We might have a new case.”

“Concerns?”

“Apparitions, poltergeist activities, one disappearance.”

“Test for psychological problems?”

“Done. Caller showed no signs of mental issues.”

“Possible physical causes of phenomena?”

“None.”

Dad thinks for a while. “What do you feel about it?”

“I feel we should take it.”

“Very well. Let’s discuss the schedule and logistics.”

Elizabeth watches her parents in awe. They easily decided to take the case because Dad trusts Mum completely and does not doubt her expertise. Pride together with a small pang of jealousy pierces her heart. She may be her parents’ daughter, and they may be close as a family, but there is something so efficient and natural and perfect in their partnership that she could never have with either of them.

Still watching her parents as they plan and discuss, she wonders if she will ever find someone she could work with in such wonderful tandem. It is at this moment that her godfather knocks and enters the room.

“Noll, Mai, Elizabeth?”

She shakes off her thoughts and hurries to him. “Uncle!”

He gives her a small smile as he asks, “Are you ready to learn Qigong?”

“Yeah!” She turns back to her parents: “See you later, Dr Davises!”

“See you.” “Mm.” Mum and Dad reply at the same time again, already returning to the work before them.

Elizabeth keeps her eyes on them until the door closes. Mum wins this week. But maybe next time Dad will. Either way, they both win in her heart. And she wins as well because Thursday just became her new favourite day.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading. :3 This fic is just lying in my WIP folder even though I'd completed it in 2017. It was supposed to be a sequel to a oneshot, but for some reason it was the first one I finished. I guess I'll just post the other fic as a prequel—that is, if I actually succeed in writing it. XD


End file.
